


In The Valley of the Night

by icandothetango



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Credence is my bean and must be protected, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Let's pretend we never saw Johnny Depp and go on living our lives of sin, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, but without the comfort, pre!Grindelwald, with the wonder that is Percival Graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:45:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8626819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandothetango/pseuds/icandothetango
Summary: "He loves me" was something Credence had never dared to think.





	

_He loves_ _me_ was something Credence had never dared to think. Or that anyone loved him, for that matter. And yet- when it came from Mr. Graves’ lips, he could not help but believe him. This protection, this affection, interspersed with the constant pain of separation- how could it not be love?

It happened one night in that cold alley near the church, Credence hardly protected from the wind by his thin jacket, the only coat ma ever provided him with. He was passing through in an attempt to find a spot for the next rally, though he knew he would not be met with appreciation on his return, but the sharp crack of the belt upon his hands once again (or maybe his shins, this time)- sparing and harsh, but the only human contact he had. The flyers he held in his hands, saying SECOND SALOMERS, UNITE! DOWN WITH THE DOERS OF SATAN’S WORK. BURN THE WITCHES in big block letters struggled to be free from his hands, chilled and stiff from the brisk air. One by one, they were whisked out of his hands and onto the pavement, slick from an evening shower. He kneeled, scrambling to pick them up when as fast as they had fallen, they rose from the ground and back into his arms. Startled at first, Credence turned to the new presence in the alley: Mr. Graves.

Seeing his stricken look, the older man approached him and immediately enfolded him in his arms, Credence letting himself go limp as he took in the smells that he had begun to associate with the man- heady cologne, pomade, and coffee. Tucking his head into Graves’ neck, he began to whimper. The other man held him tightly, gently grasping the back of his neck, allowing him to cry.

There was no other person he allowed this level of comfort with. At the church, he could not even sleep in his own bed without the feeling of being somewhere alien, and the paralyzing fear that he would be dragged out of bed by the hair for any small wrongdoing- or worse, his siblings. If they weren’t his own, other screams kept him up at night. This night was one of the worst- first it had been him, then Chastity, accused of something he could only dimly remember, beat until ma’s hand got tired. She had handed him the flyers, telling him to go and not come back until it was with true contriteness, but he had not worked up the courage to return. Like always, he felt this dark mass consuming him, swirling around him that he could not shake off- and perhaps didn’t want to. This darkness protected him, insulated him- and made him fell oddly powerful. But whenever he was around Mr. Graves, his dark mass backed away into the shadows, seemingly afraid of the light that he always created from his hands. No matter what he tried alone in his bedroom, he could not create that same light with his ever-stinging, clumsy hands. He was so, so clumsy.

“Credence,” Mr. Graves whispered, pulling back slightly so he could read his face. “What happened? What did she do to you?”

“Please, sir. Help me- please. Sir. Mr. Graves- I need-”

“Of course, dear boy. Give me your hands.”

He drew in shaky, stuttering breaths as he placed his hands into the other man’s calloused but incredibly soft hands, capable of doing so many beautiful things that Credence could never hope to accomplish. As whenever they made skin-to-skin contact, Credence shivered, quite unable to comprehend his feelings for the man in anything but a worshipping, almost religious sense. He felt unbelievably guilty. Why would a man like Graves help such an undeserving boy as himself? He didn’t mind the pain--truly--it was all he knew. He began to shake his head jerkily, sobbing even harder. “You shouldn’t- I don’t deserve---”

“Shhh. Don’t ever say that again. You deserve everything I can give you, and more. You are so special, Credence. Let me take care of you.”

Soon that warm, caressing light was enveloping his hands once more. Inexplicably, Grave’s presence had created a pocket of warmth around them, insulating from the outside world, and there was no excuse for Credence’s trembling save for that persistent ache sitting low in his belly. When he had healed the wounds, Mr. Graves thumbed his palm with a ghosting touch, bringing Credence’s hand up to his mouth to kiss it, something which was undoubtedly sinful but so damnably electric, sending even more sparks down him spine that made his knees wobbly and his lip quiver.

“Is there more?” murmured the man who seemed to encompass all things unholy but whose gentleness so out of place in the shadows. Defeated, Credence nodded weakly.

“Yes. My back.” Looking into his eyes for permission, at a slight nod Mr. Graves untucked his stiffly starched shirt and reached underneath, extending his healing light to the welts and cuts that had made Credence’s skin feel to him no more than an unwelcome and painful shell.

Oh, this was too much.

The younger man desperately gripped Graves’ shoulders, unable to support himself. The magic was now more than warm- uncomfortably so- and it prickled at him with increasing intensity. “Please.” He didn’t even know what he was asking for, but even the stabs of horrified guilt that gnawed at his insides were no match to the burning hunger he felt for something entirely different. A similarly ravenous look passed over Grave’s features and knowing- for the life of him- that he could not leave this sad and strangely beautiful man, he tilted Credence’s head up until their lips met. Credence was inexperienced, fumbling, but responded to Grave’s mouth and tongue with a small moan he immediately felt guilty for, despite all the times the man had told him there was never any need to be ashamed when they were together. Kissing him deeper and with more force, Graves felt the other man’s hands tentatively creep up into his hair. He gently pressed Credence into the wall of the alley, the unfriendly night all but forgotten, pausing only to take the tears up off his face with a quick press of his lips.

For a while, they communicated only with groans and whimpers, Graves sliding a leg in between Credence’s, each feeding off the other’s desirous energy in a vicious cycle of breath being taken and exchanged. Credence seemed to be at once brave and broken, empowered by his lust but taken aback by the sheer passion of it. Shifting his lips from the shell of Credence’s ear to that sensitive juncture between neck and shoulder, Graves laved at the area, raking his teeth over the soft, pale skin, intensifying his attack to the sound of cries now rising in pitch. A hint of stubble further over-sensitized his pleasurably aching neck, giving the sense that he was being prepared to be utterly consumed. Hips twitched as they were pinned against the wall, an area at the apex of his thighs that he rarely could pay attention to aching for increased contact.

“Fuck, Credence, _I love you_.” breathed a man now unsure of what his true mission was.

With a snap, all the warmth was drained from him as the man disapparated into the night, Credence left stuttering, crumbling to his knees, astounded at three words he had never dared to feel the full extent of. 


End file.
